


Castiel - The Righteous Man

by sandean_cas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace as a Cure (Supernatural), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Canon Compliant, Cas was there from the beginning, Cas we talked about this. Personal space?, Castiel (Supernatural) in Hell, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel is Not Amused (Supernatural), Castiel is Not Oblivious (Supernatural), Conversations in the Impala (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Deserves Nice Things, Dean Winchester Does Not Get Pie, Dean Winchester Loves Pie, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Dean Winchester Says "I Love You", Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, Dean Winchester Talks About Feelings, Feels, Fluff, Guardian Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Heaven, Hell, I Will Go Down With This Ship, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Making Out in the Impala (Supernatural), Michael Does Not Ship Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor Ruby/Sam Winchester, Multi, Origin Story, Personal Space, Pie, Pre-Canon, Pre-Episode: s04e01 Lazarus Rising, Quote: Angels are watching over you. (Supernatural), Quote: I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. (Supernatural), References to Supernatural (TV), Slow Burn, Sword of Michael (Supernatural), The Impala (Supernatural), The Universe Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Torture, Wingless Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2020-10-13 12:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandean_cas/pseuds/sandean_cas
Summary: What if the righteous man wasn't who we were led to believe? What if Castiel saved the wrong man from Hell?ORCastiel must have known Dean Winchester before he 'gripped him tight and raised him from perdition,' because why else would he betray everything he knows for a human who he has known less than a few days.





	1. Genesis

What if the righteous man wasn’t who we led to believe it would be?

Lawrence, Kansas, November, 1983.

Castiel watched silently on what he knew would be their last day as a happy family. He knew that he would stand there that night, watch as Azazel appeared in the child’s room, watch as he tainted his soul, watch as his mother was engulfed in the raging fire. This was the night it all began.  
Heaven.

Hell.

Michael and Lucifer. 

Once brothers, now destined to battle at Stull cemetery, Lucifer would fall under Michael’s heavenly wrath, he thinks, and the earth would be saved. All it cost was the utter destruction of this one family. It was heaven’s will and it is just. Castiel knew this, he knew the divine plan and how it was meant to play out, yet… a profound sorrow bubbled up in his throat, but he swallowed it down, just like a good soldier.

His grace stood still as Mary fled up the stairs, her mind rife with terror, it pulsed with her scream of helpless… of a mother trying to protect her son. The righteous man pummelled up the stairs after her, staring in abject horror at his dead wife on the ceiling. When Mary burst into flames, Castiel wasn’t sure that John would even find the willpower to get his children out of the house. But he does. He is the righteous man after all.  
In other room, slumbering peacefully, is somehow Dean. His young mind not yet trained to spring awake at the slightest noise. Castiel extends tendrils of his grace, waking the child slowly and taking away any weariness he might feel.

“Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now, Dean. Go!”  
Castiel watched over then as they bolted out of the house, carefully outing any flames that licked too close to their vessels. Heaven would be disappointed if they should perish now.

22 years later

Dean was driving away. Lines of disappointment etched onto his face. Castiel was so engulfed by this human’s profound emotions that he almost did not sense the demon that was waiting for Sam in his room. Dean was already speeding away, the steady purr of the Impala and a symphony of Led Zeppelin drowning out the sound of his brother’s departing words. Castiel’s grace shot out and with one decisive motion the Impala’s engine stuttered and the lights surrounding them flickered. He knew that interference was strictly prohibited… but he also knew that the brother’s needed each other to survive… to find their father. Castiel almost could not believe his actions.  
Yes, he would say it’s for the greater good… to use the boys to find the righteous man, who was now warded against angels, yet deep down, at the core of his grace, he knew how fallacious that was. His real thoughts… well they were too impetuous…too blasphemous to even be considered. 

But as Dean suddenly swerved, gripping the wheel tightly as he raced back towards his brother, Castiel could not help the way his grace pulsed brightly as his essence seemed to expand and contract all at once.

2 years later

Castiel felt tainted. Interacting with demons would do that to an angel. Azazel had wanted the righteous man, and so he had taken him. Given him ten minutes when he was rightfully entitled to ten years. Of course no one would bat an eye at this, after all, Hell was just as dedicated to starting the apocalypse. Once again Castiel had convinced himself that he was just following orders. Being a good soldier. Making his father proud.  
The reality though was that he was not in fact perpetuating Heaven’s will in this instance. The only real reason that  
Castiel had done it was that it aligned with his own errant sentiments. Shame burned bright in his chest as John willingly complied.

The first seal was on its way to bring broken.

And Castiel was indifferent, so indifferent that he missed the cries from both heaven and hell as his grace sought out the once more beating heart of Dean Winchester.

…

The angels stood ready for months, waiting for the righteous man to break so that they could begin the incursion into hell.

His was in charge of his very own garrison and he was more than ready to dive into the depths of hell to retrieve the Winchester’s father.

But the righteous man refused to give in. Almost fifty years passed and the angels wilted more with every passing day. Surely the tortures of hell would unleash abject horrors upon John Winchester. But as time passed, it seemed less and less likely that he would break.

The day he was summoned to the most sacred halls of Heaven was the day that he thought his true feelings were revealed. His sympathies… his shortcomings. They knew he was different, right from the start, they had surely predicted his incompetence and abject failures as an angel. 

Castiel was more than prepared for the inevitable chastisement… possibly being cast out onto the earth in a ball of fire that would shred his wings and catapult his grace from his vessel. What he was not prepared for was the soft words of Raphael telling him that there might be another way.

Sam Winchester was dead.

And Dean Winchester was on his way to make a demon deal.

…

Schooling the motions of his grace into gentle waves, he asks what Raphael means to accomplish with this new development.

“Dean Winchester in hell.” Says Raphael, “if anything will break John Winchester it’s his son, the one he died for suffering at the hands of a torturer worse than his own.”

Castiel bristled at that. No. Could they mean –

“Alistair will handle the boy personally. Offer him a chance of escape that he will never let himself take.” Raphael suddenly moves closer, his mere presence pinning Castiel. “He must make this deal Castiel.”

…

He couldn’t allow it. Just couldn’t. This human. This self-loathing, self-sacrificing piece of flesh whom he had watched over since birth, was about to damn himself to the most macabre of tortures. Castiel had healed him when he was a baby, fighting off infections that might have otherwise killed him, sometimes comforting baby Dean as he screamed himself blue in the face. He was more than prepared to do it again, to comfort him after the loss of his brother, to let him grieve as he should. More importantly, they would not allow Sam to remain dead. They needed him. But Dean didn’t know that. 

And they needed Dean, he thought. Raphael’s plan was as clear as day. If hell could not break John in time, Dean would be Michael’s vessel. It was always supposed to be Dean… brothers like Michael and Lucifer. But Michael knew Dean… knew that he would never in a million years say yes… he knew it even before Dean’s birth. But if John would not break, then Dean would have to. 

Except… it was as though something had possessed Castiel. He knew that was impossible. He marched towards the gates of Heaven, his grace fluctuating and thrumming with indecision.

“Castiel.” The stern powerful voice commands his attention. 

Curiously, the angel before him was not one of his brethren. He had never before seen this being.  
“I’m Naomi.” Says the angel, “we’re due for a meeting Castiel.”

A few months later

Castiel blinks. His grace has folded over itself time and time again and he feels like a lion trapped in a bird cage. His searching gaze flits around the darkness in bewilderment.

In a flash, a soul appears before him. It radiates pain, animosity and a special brand of dejection that is characteristic of only one human. Clarity pulses through him as his eyes flit over the form of the soul… the soul that he has memorised since birth… the soul that Heaven punished him for.

Naomi.

Invading Hell.

His garrison falling.

It all flooded his mind.

“What are you?” the soul asks, with a subtle quirk of his head, successfully distracting Castiel from his revelations.

“I am Castiel, angel of the Lord.” He says, half in wonder.

How could a soul be in Hell for this long, torture and maim, yet still radiate purity? How could he leave Dean here? 

If he returned with anyone but the righteous man, Heaven would kill him and launch an incursion into Hell. It would be pointless to save Dean. Catastrophic to his very existence. 

He steels his voice, “I am here for the righteous man.”

A bitter laugh resounds. Dean glares at him almost in disappointment. “Well ‘angel dude’ you’re in Hell if you hadn’t noticed. There’s nothing righteous about this place. What are you really, and don’t you dare say angel you son of a bitch!” he barks as Castiel opens his lips to repeat the introduction.

“You can see my form Dean.” He says, beginning to feel uneasy in his bonds. “I’m clearly not a demon and no soul looks like this.”

“Then you’re a monster.” Dean says flatly. For the first time since arriving, Castiel takes stock of the room. It is dank with an overwhelming sense of fear.

The rack. The place where countless souls were tortured; shredded apart countless times until they turned a smoky black.

“Release me.”

Dean’s hands hover over a blade, as raucous noises drift closer.

“Your mother – she told you that angels were watching over you.” Says Castiel, panic seeping into his voice. From what the archangels had said, the instruments in hell were designed to inflict uninhibited physical torments onto anything that touched them. Castiel was fairly certain that angels were included in ‘anything.’ “She sang ‘Hey, Jude’ to you at night when you were sad.”

Dean’s entire soul flickered and for a moment Castiel believed that he would be freed.

The noises moved closer and Dean slashed the blade clean through his grace. A scream tore up his throat and echoed in the space around them. Dean’s entire visage was dimmed, subdued and he moved with almost mechanical motions.

Castiel had never been victim to such profound pain in the millions of years he had been alive. There were very few weapons that could hurt an angel. What Naomi had done to him was painful, but incomparable to this. Castiel’s wings thrashed on instinct, attempting to shield his grace.

At the appearance of his wings Dean stopped reigning down slashes of pain and stared at him.

“Maybe you are an angel.” Murmurs Dean, eyes glinting dangerously, “I need you to scream.”

After moments of silence it began again.

Dean was right, Castiel did scream, he screamed long and bloody, his grace twisting and writhing in a futile attempt to avoid the blade and the pain. Castiel screamed for days, endlessly, the torture never ceased. His eyes remained closed to avoid looking at the soul before him, except for when Dean had carved them open or rendered them blind. 

Ever so slowly his grace dimmed, the fight slowly draining out of him.

Abruptly, it ceased. Yet Castiel still screamed as his being struggled to adjust to the notion of not being in pain.

“How’s Sam?” Asks Dean, his voice low and controlled.

Castiel keeps his mouth shut, for fear of his tongue being ripped out.

“If you answer… I’ll take you to the righteous man.” He adds.

Castiel shouldn’t believe a word of it. Should keep his mouth sealed… but his mind drifts back to Dean’s soul, a pure beacon of light shining in the depths of despair. If he didn’t know better Castiel would say that Dean had been here less than a day. Dean was asking about his brother. The only thing he had left to love. The boy that Dean had protected all his life, just as Castiel protected Dean. How would he take this though? To know that his sacrifice was utterly unappreciated by Sam?

“He’s drinking demon blood.”

Dean inhales sharply, in disgust, he reels for many moments, digesting the news. “You have to help him.” says Dean, his hands still stiff on the hammer. “If I let you go find the righteous man, promise me.”

“I swear it.”

“We need to wait a few hours for the halls to clear and I have somewhere to be.” Says Dean, his eyes shining with determination, “Stay here and stay silent.”

…

The door creaked open and Castiel eagerly perked up, turning to great Dean. In his time alone,  
Castiel had come to a few conclusions. Firstly, that the demons had somehow convinced Dean that Sam was well… possibly as a way to placate him, secondly, that he could forgive Dean for torturing him and thirdly, he would take Dean with him.

“An angel.” A voice sneers, “This is what he’s been hiding. I bet he carved you up real good, taught him everything he knows.”

Alistair.

A chill runs through Castiel at the words of Hell’s most infamous torturer.

“Come on bitch, let’s have some fun until Deany- weany comes back for you.”

Castiel gulps, a new type of terror surging through him. With Dean, everything was clinical, robotical, in a way that led Castiel that he actually did not derive pleasure from torturing. However, Alistair displayed a worrying zeal to inflict pain and after all he had heard, torture was the only thing that brought Alistair any pleasure now.  
From the first stroke of the pliers, Castiel knew that this would be much worse than before. Instead of tearing off fingernails or eyelids, curishing his grace or any of the other options, Alistair directed his attention to Castiel’s wings; the only territory that Dean avoided suring their time on the rack. Chunks of heathers and grace were mangled by the blunt instrument, the pain wasw so immense that Castiel couldn’t even muster a scream. The most intimate and sensitive part of an angel was their wings and his soon lay in disrepair. 

“Can you die like this?” chirps Alisrair sounding way too interested.

Castiel remains motionless.

“That wouldn’t be very fun now would it?”

Alistair heals Castiel with a single breath, but the demon is Hell’s greatest torturer for a reason. Before healing his wings, he leaves Castiel a nice surprise.

The flesh of his wings knit together, his grace helping it along, but it hurts, sears his entire being in fact. 

Fragments of an angel blade have been interwoven with his grace and his grace instinctively tries to repair it, rushing thorough his nerves to heal him but as soon as the pain dulls the shards shift and his grace moves to alleviate his suffering. The vicious cycle repeats itself leaving Castiel hollow and discombobulated. Too shaken to do anything but whimper from a pain that radiates ceaselessly.

And that’s exactly how Dean finds him. Trembling. Shamelessly babbling Enochian pleas. Castiel hadn’t even noticed that Alistair was gone, but he surely noticed Dean’s presence.

Dean’s lips purse into a sort of angry pout and his eyes flash. “Dammit. Alistair.”

Castiel nods, not able to get any words our in his present condition.

Methodically, Dean surveys the damage, eyes dancing over his wings with a pinched expression.

“We have to move quickly.” He says, matter-of-factly, “If anyone knows I let you go…”

He trails off.

“Dean…” the voice is a plea, a whimper. Castiel is shocked that he no longer even sounds like an angel, a commander of the host. Upon his arrival he could not fathom why Dean would torture him in such a manner, but now it was as clear as a crystal; Dean had wanted him to scream, to avoid any unnecessary attention while he decided on a plan of action. Clarity spread through his being with a sense of joyfulness not intended for the pits of  
Hell… Dean had been going easy on him, doing the bare minimum to avoid suspicion. 

“There’s too much to take out all at once. I’ll pull the ones closer to your spine first ok?”  
Castiel nods.

He bites his lips to prevent any more shameful noises from escaping, unwilling to listen to the shameful pleas he had been reduced to, but as Dean extracts the first shard of metal, Castiel trembles and faints, his body no longer able to process such agony.

Castiel woke to a litany of explicitness and a crippling pain.

Thankfully, he’s no longer strapped to the table.

“Who the hell is this ‘righteous man’ anyway?” Dean’s voice is tinged with bitterness and scorn.  
This moment would decide everything. The rest of life as it is known hinged on whether he could convince a man as arrogant and stubborn as Dean Winchester that he was the righteous man.

Dean was the true Michael’s Sword. Heaven just preferred John as he would be more pliant, less doubtful and suspicious. Moreover, Castiel would not leave him here, not after he noticed the way Alistair spoke of Dean whilst torturing him. Castiel knew his thoughts at that moment went against the Almighty’s plan but could not muster the slightest bit of guilt.

He knew why. Naomi had known why as she stripped him of his memories.

Castiel was in love with a human, with Dean Winchester.

That human had tortured him to keep him safe, the one who wanted to die but now wanted to live the one he had a soft spot for.

“You.” Says Castiel, laying his hand firmly on Dean’s shoulder. That one word held more meaning than either could comprehend in that moment. It was the end. It was the beginning… of a bond so profound that not even death could break it.

…

Joshua closed his eyes, as he sent out the prayer. 

“It is done, Father.” He says, surrounded by the evergreens, his hand resting atop a pile of moss. “Castiel has chosen Dean Winchester. You were right to sense his disobedience, he did not even search for John… a good thing too as he would not have been found.”

Unbeknownst to anyone, after Dean had killed Azazel, John finally achieved peace and now resided in Heaven with his soul-mate, Mary.

…

Chuck closed his eyes in bliss, as the words of Joshua’s prayers reached him. Everything, as always, had gone according to plan. Of course, Castiel’s memories would be cleansed as soon as they entered Heaven, but Chuck knew how impermanent it would be.

A smile slipped onto his face.

Just think of all the storylines this opened up. Slow burn. Angst. Heart-break. That spicy will-they-won’t-they that every story needed. After all, what good is a journey without at least one trail-blazing, sappy, forbidden love-story?


	2. “‘You’re my cherry pie.’”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some rousing truths are revealed and some bonds are formed. Dean and Cass do what they need to survive. Some reassurances are given and some doubts are expressed. Let's just say we delve into how Castiel's personal space issues came about and just who encouraged them.

Castiel would not have made it out of Hell’s pits if not for Dean. His mind was rife with a potent mix of fear and pain. His wings throbbed with every movement, despite Dean having removed most of the shards. He’d concluded a few paces ago that he’d been poisoned. He’d die soon no doubt. But he would save Dean Winchester. He would.

Dean crept silently through Hell, slipping back into his hunter persona with ease. He’d insisted that they both only carry a few blades from the rack; convinced that the only way out would be covertly, making a dash just at the end. Castiel did not have the heart to explain to him that once Alistair realised he was gone he wouldn’t not care. Hell wanted the apocalypse brought on just as much as the silver city. Sure he might send out a few lower level demons to taunt them but they would be fine.

The real threat would come when they got to Heaven. He would avoid it on a whole but only in Heaven would he be able to mend Dean’s body and soul.

“Castiel.” Dean whispers. “There’s a small spot past those bushes. It was destroyed and abandoned when the angels invaded. We’ll rest there.”

He wants to tell Dean that they shouldn’t stop. They should just keep moving. But everything throbs.

Silently, they meander across the stretch of boiling dirt so a small space between the rocks, too small to be a cave. But large enough to hold them both.

…

“Your wings are on fire.” Dean observes, critically.

Castiel swallows.

Dean’s noticed. Obviously. Now that they’ve stopped to rest though, he can catalogue just how much the poison has spread. Its orange tendrils are slowly decaying his grace, more than half of his wings are infected. He can’t imagine even using them to fly, to even maintain control of them for more than a millisecond before being engulfed in pain. He’d surely die before even saving Dean. He steals himself against the trembling of his essence and tells Dean: “Cut them off.”

They’re far enough from the screams that it’s no longer deafening, but close enough that it disguises any noises they might make.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “You’re an angel. Wings are your trademark. Could you even survive without them?”

He would be maimed forever. Considered more abhorrent than the fallen, the ones who deemed it fit to rip their grace out and live human lives.

“My grace will wither and I will die if the poison is allowed to spread.”

“You saved me.” says Dean, holding his gaze in the flashing light.

“Then don’t let me die.”

Wordlessly, Dean slips his blade out, motioning for Castiel to turn his back. His wings tremble, and idly, he reaches out to touch them one last time with a tendril of his grace.

“Um Castiel?” Dean’s voice is filled with trepidation, “I can’t tell wing from… anything else. It’s all just sort of flow-y”

“I shall mould my grace into a vessel then.” Suggests Castiel. “Which gender would you prefer to travel beside Dean?”

Dean makes a choked sound, seeming massively uncomfortable with the entire line of conversation. Humans always did place an unfounded amount of judgement on gender.

“Honestly. A dude. Most of my hunting partners were guys in any case. Sam. My dad…”

Castiel morphs his features, moulding his grace into a male form. Similar in height to Dean, similar features, a welcoming face. Actually, Castiel decided to mould himself into one of his potential vessels: a salesman, Jimmy.

…

Dean stood, taken aback by the new ‘man’ who stood before him. He hadn’t expected the angel to be so… fluid. Though, he had to admit, this new form seemed more approachable than the shining blue glob that he strapped to his rack.

Castiel’s wings were now distinguishable from the rest of him. He could tell the angel was already on edge, waiting for Dean to tell him when he would start.

In one fluid motion Dean hacks off the right wing, not cutting too close to the back. The angel stiffens, howling as more of the blue mist leaks out. As his holds the other wing steady the angel wrenches out of his grasp before letting himself be hoisted back. Dean makes quick work of the second wing. He tries his best not to notice how the angel’s howls blend in perfectly with those of the other tortured souls.

The angel curls in on himself now, the stumps where the wings had been slowly repairing themselves. The wings themselves though, they lay on the floor, mist leaking and mixing with the poison as it attacked viciously. They continued to spasm, he noted, like a snake with its head cut off. And Dean felt sick. The wings, along with the angel they were attached to were the only truly beautiful things he’d seen in so long. And like always, he’d managed to destroy them.

The angel lay in agony, and Dean knew that no words could mend this. He immediately felt guilty despite knowing that he prevented the angel’s certain death.

“Castiel.” He tries, keeping his voice gentle.

Something akin to a sob bursts from the angel’s mouth.

“I’m sorry.” He says, keeping his own emotions in check. Somehow, he’d managed to destroy the only creature who thought he was worth saving within days of meeting him. “I’ll watch over you until you recover.”

…

The angel doesn’t sleep so much as sit contemplatively. He was still in some major pain; that much was evident. Overall Dean felt like a dick. Torture or be tortured aside, he’d hurt this being, this Castiel in what he presumed the worst way for an angel.

“Castiel.”

“Yes Dean.” His voice is low and gravely but carries strongly.

“I’m sorry.” He says, no matter how hollow the words, they need to be said.

“You had no choice Dean.”

And damn it if that wasn’t he entire life – and after-life apparently.

“How’s the pain?” he tries instead.

“Painful.”

He almost scoffs. Sarcasm.

It can’t be nice to just sit there wallowing in pain. And even Dean is growing restless in the silence.

“So you’ve watched me… most of my life I guess.”

“I have.”

“Then why do you still think I’m this righteous man?”

“It is written Dean.” The angel pauses, his back still towards Dean.

The angel’s wings still lay in a heap on the floor, wilted and shrivelled like a week old rose. Neither of them look at it for too long.

“When I take you to heaven it’s most likely that the host will remove your memories of me and vice versa.” Continues Castiel. “I will come to you once more, and this shall be my visage.”

Stilling, Dean takes in the magnitude of his words. “So the God squad is just gonna wipe our memories and shove me back on earth. Then this Michael is gonna ride me like a horse into certain doom.”

“That’s a primitive way to phrase it, but yes. And Michael will win and you will continue with your life as you please.”

“Alight.” Dean huffs a laugh, “I’m gonna be hard to convince when you meet me again.”

The angel shifts slightly, pinning Dean with an inquisitive stare. “How _will_ I convince you then Dean?”

Wings. He keeps his eyes steadfastly away from the two heaps on the floor. “Um… I dunno.”

“Come closer.”

Dean obliges, shuffling on his knees until he’s almost on top of Castiel.

“I see you have no concept of personal space.” quips the angel.

A smile graces Dean’s features, but he makes no attempt to move away.

“Tell me what I can do.” Commands the angel, staring at Dean almost unnervingly. The few feet between them had put a damper on it, but up close the probing stare is – well probing. Dean wonders if he has a super-power, like mind-reading or something; that’s why he’s always staring.

“Well, if you look at me like that, I think you’ll compel me into remembering you.”

“Unlikely.” He huffs, “Heaven’s methods are most thorough.”

He shifts, uncomfortable once more, “It sounds like you’ve got some experience with that. I mean, you can’t appreciate having your memories wiped like some crap off a windshield.”

“No.” murmurs the angel, “it is quite painful. I wasn’t supposed to remember my time watching over you before I dove into Hell.”

“But you do?”

“Vividly.” He says, earnestly, “Watching over you – and by extension your brother will always be the best part of my job. Watching you relationship develop was truly special Dean. You have experienced much tragedy in your life thus far, yet you still managed to take care of your sibling and help everyone around you. That’s why you’re perfect for Michael.”

Flushing slightly, Dean tries to get past the sincerity of his statement, “You sound like Michael and I are getting engaged.” He jokes.

Castiel hums, “You joke Dean, to avoid the compliment. I know you.”

They sit quietly for a bit, Dean unsure of how to make conversation after such a rousing, if unnecessary speech on his strength of character.

“How can you say that?” he demands eventually, “You saw me back there. I was thriving. _Livid._ I tortured countless souls… hell, I tortured you for a bit. So how can you say that?”

As though approaching a frightened animal, the angel slowly extends a hand, resting it on his knee and squeezing slightly. “I cannot blame you for something that was decided before you were born. Hell didn’t break you Dean. You were broken long before you made that demon deal, tired beyond measure. That you lasted thirty years was a miracle in itself. The angels stood ready the minute you entered Hell. They stood at attention for years, wondering what was taking so long, how the tortures of Hell had managed to fail to profoundly.”

Castiel takes a breath, as though in pain, “They spent years with your father, learning what made him tick and when they heard you were finally on your way down, they learned everything they could about you. Every single detail of your existence, they knew it. They used it against you to break you. With most souls the torture is mindless, just pain and torment ceaselessly, but for you the torture was crafted to getting you onto the rack… the notion even, of torturing to save yourself was torture onto itself. You persevered for thirty years Dean. And sure you tortured me, but you didn’t really. I could tell the difference. Between you and Alistair I mean. You held back.”

The angel moves his other hand to lift Dean’s chin, forcing him to stare into eyes filled with blue mist, “Believe me Dean, just a few more days under Alistair’s care, I would have done whatever he wanted just to make it stop.” Castiel removes his hand, “Don’t feel ashamed Dean, feel proud.”

Castiel’s words tug at something in him, the part of him that longed for redemption as soon as he said the word ‘yes.’ His mind still refused to accept it, but he had no doubt that those words won’t escape him any time soon.

“You said you remembered.” He says, feeling a sense of hope. To forget this would be to forget part of himself.

“I did. I recognised your soul and the memories came back.”

“So you’re saying that I have a chance then.” Dean barely keeps the hope out of his voice, “A chance that when I see you I’ll remember everything.”

“You won’t Dean.” And fuck if his damn voice isn’t placating. “I will though.”

“So what then, I just don’t have your ‘angelic mental fortitude’ then?” Dean huffs, screwing his nose up in indignation.

Everyone thinks Sam’s the smart one, what’s new.

And Sam, fuck if that wasn’t something he wanted to think about right now. Escape Hell. Escape Heaven. Get to Earth. Kick Sam’s ass. Let Michael ride him off into the sunset. That’s the plan.

“I have a connection to you.” explains the angel, “You won’t remember me because you simply have no knowledge of the bond we share.”

“Well, lay it on me then angel.”

Castiel pins him with a glare. “Our bond isn’t something frivolous for you to jest about Dean.”

“You say bond but by definition that means I’m part of this ‘bond’ to Cass.”

“Cass.” The angel tests the word on his tongue, smiling slightly, “A nickname. You’ve grown fond of me.”

Oh that straight forward bastard. Dean blushes. “You don’t just say stuff out loud like that.”

“So I’m not allowed to make an observation then?”

“Not about stuff like that.” Responds Dean.

“I like how you react.”

“Embarassed.” Figures.

The angel shakes his head lightly, “Real. You don’t hide anything. Like now, you’re hiding how worried you are about my wings. This won’t kill me. Though it may prove a nuisance to our escape.”

“I just feel bad.” Admits Dean, despite himself he feels as though he can open up to Castiel. His entire persona feels as though it’s made to comfort Dean and draw him in. Or maybe it just their ‘bond’ – or whatever.

The angel remains silent, casting a forlorn glance to the wings that Dean tried so hard to shield with his body.

“Our bond.” he begins, glancing away from the mangled wings, and back to Dean. He holds Dean’s right hand lightly and Dean doesn’t have the heart to tell him to back off, “It began when I first healed you as a child, and blossomed as I played with you in your back yard but it came into fruition when you first touched me with gentleness and dare I say trust back on that rack as you pulled the poison from my wings.” His hand trails up Dean’s arm, under his sleeve and presses lightly near his shoulder.

A jolt travels through Dean and he feels himself intrinsically leaning in to the touch. “What is that?” he asks breathlessly.

He looks down, shifting sleeve to take a closer look. The angel has his palm on a handprint, that is an exact match. He can’t even find it in himself to be scornful or angry at being marked. All he knows is the feeling of overwhelming peace and ardour that engulfs him as the angel maintains his grip.

“That - ” he gasps, trying not to tremble, “is some bond.”

“A profound bond Dean, one that will never be broken by any external factors and will follow us both into the afterlife.” Almost as a second thought he adds, “Michael will not be pleased when he realises what I’ve done. I’ll have to heal as soon as we arrive in Heaven.”

A strange, unfounded feeling of displeasure courses through Dean. “Don’t. Remove it I mean. I won’t mind.”

“As you wish.”

“And I will remember you, just so we’re clear.”

Cocking his head, the angel pins him with another soulful stare. “You truly believe that, don’t you?”

“I will remember.” He insists, he felt the bond. He was unable to deny it’s pull and he has no doubt that feeling will remain the same once they get to earth. “When I do remember, I’ll tell you… um…”

“‘You’re my cherry pie.’” And damn if Castiel doesn’t look proud of his suggestion.

Dean presses into the angel’s touch, feeling their bond pulse. He really should have expected that his love for pie would be cosmically known.

Smiling, he rests his hand atop the angel’s, trying to convey just how much he appreciates this, how sorry he is through their bond. “‘You’re my cherry pie’ it is Cass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the story. Thanks for sticking with me! More updates are just around the corner.


	3. Wind in my Wings; Cherry in my Pie

Dean stares at up the portal. Of course it’s thousands of miles up. From down here it actually looks a lot like a star.

“How are we supposed to get up there?” he wonders.

“The portal is designed so that only angels can enter. Else the demons would spill into Heaven.”

Dean nods, but there’s no way they can make it, not without Castiel’s wings.

“Let’s take a break then, figure out another way.”

“This, is the only way.” His voice is solemn, final. “I will throw you up into the portal and you will tell the angels who you are… that I saved you. Michael will find you afterwards.” He pats Dean’s shoulder almost sadly and Dean feels his chest seize, “I won’t forget out time together Dean. It’s been the only time in my long life that I’ve… felt.” His form wraps itself around Dean in a peculiar hug. “You’ve taught me how to love Dean Winchester.”

“And you’ve taught me that being myself isn’t that bad.” He breathes. “That’s why I’m not leaving you here.”

His eyes flash blue, “You have to, it’s dangerous for you to stay here any longer.”

“So?” he asks, “What’s one more day to forty years.”

…

“Cass what are you doing?” he mumbles. He’s thrown over the angel’s shoulder his head knocking against his shoulder blades due to the choppy gait.

“You’re awake.” He observes, disappointed.

This is hell. People don’t sleep here. “Did you do something to me?”

“I used my powers to sedate you.” he says, “I’m going to throw you into the portal. Prepare yourself!”

It’s barely a second later when Dean finds himself hurtling through the air. He uses the last of his wits to grab onto any part of the angel.

They’re both flying, head over heel in a constant, nauseating spiral towards the portal. He grips Castiel’s hand tightly, so tightly that he notices a stream of grace leaking.

“Dean – too slow – veering - off.”

Damnit. Dean can see the portal slowly drifting to his right. If they fall now it’s likely that they’d just fall into another torture fit. His eyes dart to Castiel’s blurry form and he focuses as best as he can, on changing his form. Moulding it into something else, much like Castiel had moulded his.

The grace that touches his soul seems to sear into place. And soon he isn’t Dean anymore. He is Castiel’s wings.

The angel tilts off his axis at the new weight and for a few seconds they’re falling.

He catches himself quickly, flapping furiously.

“Dean what have you done.” He whispers.

But it’s too late to turn back now, too late for anything because the demons have noticed. They catapult a barrage of spears and javelins their way, some barely missing them. But as they get higher and higher the weapons no longer reach them. The light from the portal is blinding, but Castiel’s gaze remains steadfast.

The change is jolting. Like dunking himself into icy water after wandering in the desert. Everything is bright and clear. He’s surrounded by people who glow like Cass.

It takes him a minute to realise that they’re all shouting. Screaming in fact and it’s like bells and ten thousand banshees all at once.

He becomes aware that he has no form; he’s still Castiel’s wings. And he wants to let go, he does, but he also wants to hold on tighter because then Cass wouldn’t have his wings anymore… in front of all the other angels. This is the dude that saved him from hell.

“Dean let go.”

“No.”

More screeching.

“Cass it’s so loud.”

“Be quiet.” He snaps.

He feels tendrils of power trying to separate him, draw him away from Cass. The foreign sensations only make him hold on tighter, but he’s only a human, he can’t resist the host of heaven.

He finds himself back to normal, lying on the ground almost ten feet away from Cass.

The other angels converge onto Castiel instantly and Dean is rushing towards them. “You will be punished for this Castiel.”

That must be Michael. Dean fights against them, pushing and shoving to get to Cass, to protect him from… whatever sort of attack this is.

The stupid son of a bitch doesn’t even try to defend himself. Dean finally finds enough room to fling himself forward, using his body as a shield.

“If you hurt one hair – angelic fibre – I won’t go along with whatever plan it is that you all seem so intent on.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Sneers one voice.

“I know I do.” He stares meaningfully, letting them know that he knows that they need his consent.

He smirks, turning to Cass to give him a victory high-five.

“Dean look out!”

And then they’re falling all over again. It might only be moments but Dean feels the time stretch into an eternity. He see’s Cass wings, a strange meld of soul and grace, flapping furiously. He feels their essence intermingle once again. Sourgasm. He feels the fear radiating from their bond, the pressure the rush.

He remembers being ripped off of Cass.

And plunged into darkness.

…

Dean gasps, his hand scrambling for the lighter in his pocket as the kicks his coffin open, raining dirt and worms down on him.

…  
“Dean always gets dessert.” Sam mocks. “Even if he doesn’t get food, he’ll be sure to grab dessert.”

“That isn’t healthy.” Observes their friendly neighbourhood angel.

The waitress appears at that moment and Dean smiles, “Cherry pie for me.” he points to Sam, “Just blend some grass for him and Cass over there will take some chilled air.”

“I could get chilled air before you could even inhale Dean.” He snaps.

Dean rolls his eyes. No need to take it so personally.

“Y’know.” He says, as he watches the waitress amble off with a sultry sway of her hips. “I never really liked cherry pie much before. It was always apple… y’know rhubarb, blueberry. Cherry was nice you know. But … I don’t know. Hell screwed with my taste buds.”

He glances up as Sam snorts only to find Cass staring at him, slack jawed.

“What’s up buddy?” he asks.

“Do you have something to say to me?”

He frowns, “Should I?”

“You did promise me.” his voice is almost bitter.

The angel disappears and Dean scoffs. He digs into his pie anyway, ignoring how dry it tastes in his mouth. “I can’t eat this.” He huffs, pushing it away.

Sam clicks his tongue at him. “Are you my brother?”

“Shut up.”

And suddenly the stars align and a waitress slips sending the man near the jukebox tumbling over, his hand hitting the wrong song.

Warrant- Cherry Pie

“She’s my cherry pie!” The voice screams and Dean can’t help but think how wrong that is.

He remembers.

All of it.

He bolts out of the diner his feet slapping against the pitch loudly. “Cass!” he yells, “I’m prayin’ here, where are you?”

The door of the Impala creeks open and Dean gets in next to the angel in his passenger seat.

“Dean?” his voice is hopeful.

“Cass.” Dean’s voice is clogged with emotion, “You’re my cherry pie!” he almost screams.

Cass’ breath hitches and he stares at Dean with unveiled adoration.

“You remember.”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

Cass laughs. Chuckles. Dean had never heard the angel make such a noise. But he loves it. Loves him.

“I love you too.” he breathes before crashing their lips together.

Their kiss is short, nowhere near as deep as Dean wants it to be, but it’s perfect, if only because it’s Cass.

“I love you too Dean.”

Dean laughs, “Anything else would be completely unacceptable, it’s not every day I call someone my cherry pie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it 'the famous final scene.'
> 
> The end of the first fic I've ever written on this site. I loved this so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking this fic, and hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I always felt as though Castiel wouldn't just give up everything for Dean if they had such little contact. I also think the whole guardian angel theme plays in nicely with what Mary said to Dean
> 
> Let me know if you think I should expand on this :)
> 
> Edit: I've definitely decided to expand on this. Next chapter should be up soon!  
Also feel free to send any prompts my way. I just binged all 14 seasons in 3 weeks and I'm just so addicted.


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